


risk it all

by dustyjournal



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Wingfic, special shoutout to monsteras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 20:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustyjournal/pseuds/dustyjournal
Summary: “That is so typical of you angels, thinking everything you have is better. You do know that demon wings are much softer, much less annoyingly brittle than any angels’. Clearly superior.”Aziraphale scoffs and spreads his wings as wide as the shelves of books will allow, then curls them back around himself ever so slightly. “I have a very hard time believing that, demon.”





	risk it all

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so, so much to dandelionwhiskey and allthebros for their beta work and all of their support while I stumbled through writing this. 
> 
> Title from "Tightrope" from The Greatest Showman. It fits them very well and I have feelings about it.

Crowley’s bored. And when he’s bored, he has a very short list of things to cure that boredom. He’s already watered his plants today, twice, and he’s not about to risk drowning them - he just needs them to believe that he could. He could go tempt some humans, but since the world didn’t end, he hasn’t really been in the mood to do anything too demonic.

That pretty much leaves one option, and he gets into his Bentley and drives to the bookshop.

As suspected, Aziraphale is perched perfectly on his reading chair, reading by the light of a terribly yellow lamp. “It enhances the reading experience”, Aziraphale had explained once.

When Crowley lets himself in, Aziraphale perks up immediately, giving him a full smile and the bright eyes he gets when a beautiful plate of sushi is placed before him. Somewhere in the last six thousand years, Aziraphale had started looking at Crowley like that. Just another one of Aziraphale’s odd little habits.

“Crowley! What brings you here?”

Crowley drops into the adjacent armchair, puts his feet up on the ottoman that Aziraphale had bought so Crowley would stop putting his feet on stacks of books, and sighs. “I’m horrendously bored, angel. There is nothing at all for me to do.”

“Oh, come now, that’s not true,” Aziraphale responds in his ever-caring fashion. “Would you like to read one of my books? Dear Adam left me with some fascinating new reads, perhaps you’d like to-”

“Why are your wings always so...pointy,” Crowley interrupts. He gestures at the entirety of Aziraphale's wings, from the feathers to the shape they take. “They’re always so proper, so... _erect_.”

It is a given that they can always see each other’s wings, unless they choose to hide them. Until this moment, Crowley had never mentioned anything about Aziraphale’s. But now it’s of utmost importance to bring it up.

Aziraphale shifts, his wings fluttering just a bit but staying in their perfectly upright, poised form. “I fail to see how that is a bad thing, Crowley. Just because I hold myself with dignity, not flopping my wings all over the place like _you_.”

It’s their usual banter, and Crowley settles into it as he always does. He rolls his eyes. “That is so typical of you angels, thinking everything you have is better. You do know that demon wings are much softer, much less annoyingly brittle than any angels’. Clearly superior.”

Aziraphale scoffs and spreads his wings as wide as the shelves of books will allow, then curls them back around himself ever so slightly. “I have a very hard time believing that, demon.”

“I guess we will have to judge for ourselves, won’t we.” He makes it a temptation, and is delighted when Aziraphale lets himself be tempted, as he's been more willing to do since not-the-end of the world. They stand, and without another thought or word, they both reach for each other’s wings.

His knees nearly buckle. He could be grabbing the sharp end of a knife and wouldn’t notice, because the sparks, the warmth, flying up and emanating through his own wings, through his entire body, are so overwhelmingly _good_ that he nearly moans in pleasure.

Aziraphale gasps and steps back and they stand there, wide-eyed, staring at each other. The warmth and tingling in Crowley’s wings linger for a few breaths, as if Aziraphale’s hand is still holding them gently, and he’s thankful again for his sunglasses and the way they hide most of his shock.

The energy in the room has heightened, the small lamp all of a sudden radiating far too much heat. Aziraphale gulps, and Crowley realises his own throat feels rather dry.

“Well then, seems I was proven right,” Crowley says cooly. “Your wings, they’re stiff as a board. Can’t imagine how you’ve ever been comfortable with those things.”

“Yes, well, yours are quite soft. I guess you… you win this one,” Aziraphale stammers, though he seems to be speaking to a floorboard behind Crowley.

Crowley clears his throat. “Yes, well.” He coughs again. “I’ll be off, then.”

“Right, yes,” Aziraphale moves away, his wings folding up neatly behind him. “Safe travels.”

Crowley pauses, at a loss for words. He’s never at a loss for words. “Right.”

He nearly hits some pedestrians on the drive back, but that’s their fault, they were on the road to begin with.

\--

Crowley doesn’t need to sleep, but it’s a luxury he indulges in often. At its best, it helps him avoid his problems, which is exactly his goal now.

But he can’t sleep.

He tosses and turns, ends up on his back with the covers kicked off. He tries stroking his wings, running his fingers through the tips down to where Aziraphale had touched, and his whole body shivers. It’s not the same feeling, not in that mind-melting way, but it feels good. Calming, if not a little erotic.

And that’s the problem. The touch felt more intimate than anything he’s experienced in all 6000 years of his being on Earth. He had wanted more.

He still wants more.

But that’s what feels so wrong, he reasons. He wanted to be closer to an angel. His adversary.

His best friend.

It sends another shiver through his body, though it feels unsettling this time. He had wanted to be closer to Aziraphale. Not just any angel.

He just hasn't gotten laid in a while, that must be it. With the end of the world and whatnot, it’s been...bloody hell, it’s been years since he has been intimate with a human. And a human could never touch his wings, so. That’s that. He was simply horny and did not realise how it would feel to have his wings stroked, held tenderly…

His mind wanders to that feeling again, that knee-buckling electricity of Aziraphale’s fingers holding him, touching him when they have so rarely even shaken hands in the past. He rolls his eyes as if it'll dislodge the thought.

Aziraphale. Always so tender, his nature. So kind. Always smiling widely and indulging Crowley when he shouldn’t. His love for the world, for humanity. There’s something admirable in it, something loveable about it all.

Oh, fuck.

\--

It’s entirely possible that Crowley has been left without something to do for too long, but even when the world was supposed to come to its end he had made time to talk to his plants.

He had never talked to them about anything like this, though.

“I don’t think Aziraphale will want it, you see,” Crowley says as he sprays a large fern. It has grown a lot, it obviously listens to him well. “He entertains my company, but, well, there really is no chance he could love a demon. Angels love everything but they cannot _possibly_ love a demon!”

The fern’s leaves move slightly.

“Shrugging does nothing to help me! It is not a ‘perhaps Aziraphale does love you’ situation, you see! He was more than willing to let me leave his shop that night.”

The fern sniffs disapprovingly.

“Oh, I am done with your attitude,” Crowley sneers. He turns to an attentive monstera. “See, you understand. If I share my true feelings with the angel, he will reject me and my only choice will be to bathe in holy water.”

The monstera chooses not to interrupt.

“I will keep my wings hidden from now on, never speak of it again. Aziraphale will appreciate that.”

The monstera stares back.

“You cannot be serious,” Crowley replies. “He does not love me back. He can’t!”  
The monstera reminds him of the French Revolution, of World War II. Hamlet, even.

“That was gratitude, not love!”

Aziraphale invited him to lunch constantly. The body switching, his idea. Standing with Crowley even though he knew the cost. Aziraphale had done it all for him.

“That wasn’t for me. It was for the world. I don’t care how rebellious of an angel Aziraphale is, that doesn’t mean he loves me.”

The Devil’s Ivy across the room chimes in, quite rudely in fact.

“I am not a coward,” Crowley says through gritted teeth.

Every plant goes quiet, still.

Crowley sighs. "Oh, what do you know. You can't tell your stamen from your pistil."

\--

And suddenly, somewhere (or nowhere, really), God has the feeling something big is about to happen.

\--

“Aziraphale, I love you.” Crowley pauses. “How was that?”

The monstera is absolutely swooning.

“Oh come on, he won’t _swoon_. Act the part, at least.”

The speech needs more in order for Aziraphale to believe it. He needs to be convinced, the fiddle leaf fig to Crowley’s left points out.

“I suppose you’re right,” Crowley concedes. “Okay, how about this.” He faces the monstera, clearly picturing Aziraphale’s patiently waiting face, the small smile he always carries with him. “Aziraphale, you are far too good for anything I could ever deserve. But if I do not tell you now, I may carry it with me for thousands of years more. I love you. I have for a long time. Please be honest with me, do you love me too?”

Even the Devil’s Ivy softens.

“It’s a bit much, don’t you think? I may have created _The Bachelorette_ but I do not want to feel like I am on it.”

The Ivy agrees, and Crowley sighs in frustration.

“This is useless! I have never practiced anything in my life, and things generally work out. I’ll go see the angel now, before I can talk myself out of it. To those of you who were actually helpful, I'll spare the garbage disposal.”

He doesn’t care that it is pouring as he steps outside, nor that the clouds are so grey it looks like another apocalypse is upon them. This is more important.

\--

Despite the storm, a chickadee under the cover of a shop pecks at a bit of dried gum on the sidewalk, unaware of the momentous thing that is about to happen inside the bookstore above him: a demon expressing love.

\--

Aziraphale unlocks the door after the second knock, giving Crowley enough time to get thoroughly soaked.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaims, eyebrows raised to his hairline as he lets Crowley step past. “What are you doing here? It’s raining cats and dogs!”

“Uh, yes, yes it is,” Crowley says intelligently, realising that driving through a storm to visit him just might come off a bit desperate.

“Here, allow me,” Aziraphale offers, and an instant later Crowley is dry. It’s a kind gesture, but he may have preferred to be soaking wet as it may have kept his mind off of how hot he suddenly feels. “I haven't seen a storm like this since Noah, and we all know how that worked out.”

“Yes, right,” Crowley mumbles. He’s driven through a highway of flames, seen Satan breach the earth’s surface, and he’s still never been more afraid than now.

“Crowley, is something wrong?” Aziraphale asks, his wings pointed and alert. Crowley looks away from them, instead focusing on Aziraphale’s face.

It’s just how he pictured it when he practiced, except for the distinct lack of house plants.

“I can’t do it,” Crowley mutters. He moves to leave, but Aziraphale stands in his way.

Always in his way, the angel. His angel.

“Can’t do what?” Aziraphale’s mouth is slightly agape, the corners turned down.

Crowley’s non-essential heart is beating too fast. His palms are sweaty. He hates this. He exhales forcefully, grits his teeth.

“I love you, Aziraphale. There are no other words to describe it. You have been a loyal and honest friend to me and I am attempting to repay that by being honest with you.” When Aziraphale says nothing, just stands there with the same open-mouthed expression, Crowley adds, “I know this is something you probably don’t want to hear, but I had to say it.”

Aziraphale still does not move, and a huge weight drops into the pit of Crowley’s stomach. He cannot put the sinking feeling into words, and hopes his wings are not betraying him.

“I’ll go, now, then,” Crowley says flatly, averting his gaze.

“This is a temptation,” Aziraphale whispers.

Crowley stops in his tracks. “What?” he asks, at least he thinks he says it aloud.

“This is a test, a temptation,” Aziraphale says, taking a step back but still standing in Crowley’s way. “You are using my weakness for something, for some reason.”

“Weakness?”

It’s Aziraphale’s turn to seem at a loss for words. The weight in Crowley’s stomach begins dissolving, replaced with...hope.

“This is no temptation, angel,” Crowley says. He keeps all types of sly silkiness out of his voice. “I am just being honest.”

“But I...you cannot love me,” Aziraphale argues, voice soft. “It’s not possible.”

Crowley throws his arms up, frustrated. “Apparently, I can. Do you remember the French Revolution? The war? I am not kind to anyone except for you, angel.”

“You-” Aziraphale starts. “You have loved me since the French Revolution?”

Crowley’s face heats; he wills it not to turn red. “Well, let’s not put a date on it.” he mutters.

Aziraphale presses his lips together, smiling at the ground and then turning it on Crowley.

Aziraphale is beaming, now, his cheeks pink. “I love you too, Crowley.”

It’s an entirely human reaction, but Crowley indulges his impulse anyway: he grabs Aziraphale by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him into a kiss.

Crowley has never, ever, described something on Earth as heavenly, but deep down he knows that is the only proper description of this feeling. He’s floating, the tentative press of Aziraphale’s lips against his own deepening into something solid, so real.

His hands release Aziraphale’s jacket but Aziraphale whines, softly, and reaches his arms around to hold Crowley closer. Crowley is pulled a little off-kilter and spreads his wings wide, curling them around them for balance. Aziraphale’s wings do the same, blanketing Crowley’s. As Crowley brings his hand up to Aziraphale’s jaw, changing the angle of the kiss, their wings touch. Lightning strikes through Crowley’s body and the sound of shattering glass fills the bookshop as the lights explode around them.

Crowley pulls back, shivering when Aziraphale’s wings close around them to keep him close. Aziraphale’s lips are red, and Crowley traces them with his thumb.

“Let me take you to bed,” Crowley says, tipping his forehead to Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale stiffens and sucks in a breath, wide eyes catching Crowley’s. “Do you trust me?”

He moves his hand back to Aziraphale’s jaw, tilts him up into another kiss.

“Ineffably so,” Aziraphale says, when he finally pulls away again.

\--

Crowley has been in Aziraphale’s bedroom a grand total of one time, and that was when Aziraphale had gotten so drunk on a vintage chardonnay that he couldn’t remember how to sober himself up - or even walk up the stairs.

Now, Crowley isn’t tucking a clingy angel under the covers.

Now, he’s slowly stripping the angel’s coat off, laying it on the cushy armchair by the door. He puts his sunglasses on top of it, for safekeeping. Aziraphale smiles at them, then back at him. Crowley’s stomach swoops.

“Crowley, I…” Aziraphale whispers. His hands are warm through Crowley’s shirt, at his waist; his mouth slightly open, as if he has something to say but is too afraid to do so.

Crowley holds Aziraphale’s cheek and cards his fingers through his hair. “We don’t have to do anything, angel. Just let me be close to you.”

“But I want to, you see,” Aziraphale says, taking a step back, taking off his bowtie. Crowley stands there, somewhat shocked, as Aziraphale undoes the buttons on his own shirt.

“Well then, let me do that,” Crowley says, stepping closer, batting away Aziraphale’s hands. His wings flare out on their own. They curl in when Aziraphale attacks Crowley’s shirt and tie.

Aziraphale walks the few steps backwards to lay back on his bed, his wings spread out wide, exposing the softest feathers near his ribcage. Crowley can barely stand the sight, the beauty of it, and he crawls on top of Aziraphale without hesitation. Aziraphale closes the distance between them to kiss him deeply.

Crowley has bed humans before, though it had only ever been out of boredom. But now, it’s as if he has never ever come close to touching another being. He’s soaring, elated and safe.

He pulls back, barely an inch. Runs a hand from Aziraphale’s jaw down to his waist, cataloguing it all.

“You really are divine,” Crowley whispers, smirking at the whole-body shudder it evokes from Aziraphale. “To think, this all started with…”

He moves his hand to Aziraphale’s wing, running his fingers through them gently. Aziraphale’s eyes close and he moans softly, arching into Crowley’s touch.

“Please,” Aziraphale asks, tilting his head back as Crowley sinks his hand deeper, through to feathers almost as soft as his own.

“What is it, angel,” Crowley teases, placing open-mouthed kisses down Azirphale’s neck, his chest.

Aziraphale’s hips buck up against Crowley’s, their whole bodies touching, moving together. “I-I don’t know,” Aziraphale answers. “I just...need you.”

“You have me.” The admission sparks something in Aziraphale. He moans again, pulling Crowley up into another kiss, and plunging his own hand into Crowley’s wings.

There are no words for the sheer amount of ecstasy surging through Crowley at this moment, like waves coming directly from every feather Aziraphale touches. Crowley groans and presses his forehead to the pillow beside Aziraphale’s head.

As Aziraphale keeps stroking Crowley’s feathers, it’s impossible to ignore what the pleasure is doing to his cock. As he rocks his hips, he can tell Aziraphale is having the same reaction.

He keeps one hand sunk into Aziraphale's feathers, and moves the other downwards, teasing at Aziraphale’s waistband.

Aziraphale’s hand closes over some very sensitive feathers and Crowley’s mind whites out for a moment. He stills.

“I don’t mean to go too fast,” he whispers in Aziraphale’s ear. “I just want to make you feel good.”

“You do,” Aziraphale breathes, opening his eyes to meet Crowley’s, his cheeks still pink. “This is not entirely new to me, but, well, it sort of is.”

And Crowley understands that; they may have done similar things with others in the past but it has never come close to the pleasure of this moment. There is something else, though, and Crowley lets himself entertain the thought briefly.

“The angel hath lost his virtue?” Crowley asks, grazing his fingers across a few of Aziraphale’s outer feathers. “And here I thought I would be the one to take it.”

“You-you are,” Aziraphale says. The admission satisfies something deep in Crowley’s being. He’ll pry later.

“Then let me touch you. Let me make you feel even better than you do right now.”

It only takes the slightest nod from Aziraphale for Crowley to open the button of his trousers. He undoes his own as well - skinny jeans constrict him, he needs the relief.

Aziraphale is hard in his underwear, and Crowley cups him over the fabric. He couples it with a kiss to Aziraphale’s jaw, moving back to Aziraphale’s mouth slowly.

Crowley could spend an eternity just like this: kissing Aziraphale, holding him close, feeling more connected to him than he had when they had switched bodies. This is far more intimate, especially as Aziraphale moves his hand through Crowley’s wings, igniting a thousand fires with every feather he touches.

He’s so entranced by the heat of it all that he doesn’t realise Aziraphale has begun rutting against Crowwley’s hand, getting himself off rather crudely.

“What do you want,” Crowley asks between kisses, barely moving far enough for their lips to stop touching. “Anything, I’ll give you anything you want.”

“This. I want this,” Aziraphale pants, tilting his head back, lips parted in the most sensual way.

Crowley keeps his hand where it is while Aziraphale chases his pleasure. Crowley keeps stroking Aziraphale’s wing, living for the helpless moans Aziraphale cannot seem to be able to contain. It’s glorious. It’s everything he could have hoped for.

“Crowley, I-” Aziraphale says, voice straining.

“Come on, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispers into Aziraphale’s ear, grabbing the soft feathers near Aziraphale’s ribs. He is rewarded with a loud gasp, his jaw dropping, his hips stuttering to a halt. Crowley kisses him through it.

When Crowley pulls away, Aziraphale’s eyes open, a sort of awe on his face that Crowley has never seen before.

“That was, um.” Aziraphale clears his throat. “Effervescent”.

Crowley places a chaste kiss on Aziraphale’s lips. “Glad to hear it.”

Aziraphale’s smile is sleepy, and Crowley can’t help but smile back. Aziraphale pulls Crowley back into a kiss, but turns them slightly. He moves his hand to Crowley’s stomach and shivers go up Crowley’s spine.

He wants to tell Aziraphale that it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to do this, but he’s selfish and Aziraphale is already pushing his jeans down enough for Crowley’s cock to pop free, and when Aziraphale gets his hand around it, there’s nothing Crowley can do except groan.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathes, hardly any volume to it. Aziraphale moves his hand so slowly up and down, gentle and torturous. Crowley’s not sure if Aziraphale means to tease him like this or if he’s just being the ever-careful angel that he must always be, but he can’t bring himself to complain or ask for more. He’ll take what Aziraphale wants to give him, thankful it’s anything at all.

“Is it good, my dear?” Aziraphale says, voice low. It’s sultry, foreign to Crowley’s ears. He’d be surprised, but Aziraphale has always been a fast learner.

“You- yes,” Crowley replies. He bucks his hips, getting more desperate as Aziraphale kisses him. Crowley takes Aziraphale’s lower lip between his teeth, not forceful but enough to make Aziraphale’s hand speed up.

Too quickly, Crowley feels heat at the base of his spine. He stills, letting Aziraphale bring him to the edge. When they kiss again, it’s over: Crowley spills all over his stomach and Aziraphale’s hand, groaning loudly as he rides the pleasure to its end.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Crowley says, a short time later.

Aziraphale turns to him, offense written on his face. “I wanted to, Crowley. Your powers of temptation may be strong but I would do that again if given the choice.”

They both stiffen as soon as Aziraphale says it, but Crowley chooses to go with it. “Well, given the choice, so would I.”

Aziraphale smiles, close-mouthed.

Crowley waves his hand and they’re cleaned up, tucked under the covers. He lays properly on his back, reaches his arm out for Aziraphale to curl into.

They don’t fall asleep for a while, and they don’t talk either. Crowley doesn’t mind. He’s entirely content, just like this.

\--

The next morning, the sun rises. The angels stay in Heaven, the demons in Hell. Armageddon does not restart. The sky does not fall.

A demon holds an angel in a bed above a bookshop, and something is a little more right in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I *technically* have a tumblr, which I have only just made to look at Good Omens fanart: [saunteredownwards](http://saunteredownwards.tumblr.com/). Feel free to contact me there, or leave a comment below. Either would make my day :D


End file.
